


In the Moment

by girahimu_sama



Series: Post-Canon Thiefshipping Oneshots [9]
Category: Yu-Gi-Oh!
Genre: Battle City, M/M, Thiefshipping, they fuck in the blimp
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-14
Updated: 2016-03-14
Packaged: 2018-05-26 18:31:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,467
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6250813
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/girahimu_sama/pseuds/girahimu_sama
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Like I said, if you see something appealing you better seize it in the moment, because it may be gone in the next.” Thiefshipping, set in Battle City, smut</p>
            </blockquote>





	In the Moment

**Author's Note:**

> Tried for some in-canon thiefshipping... which ended up basically just being PWP, I apologize. The concepts probably been done to death but well... *throws my shit into the pile* Also, when writing this, I was thinking... where the hell does Marik store his Rod? I mean when they're all dueling on the roof, it's just in the back of his belt? I mean, if all it takes to hide the one key item that could give away your identity is just.... standing behind the heroes with your back turned to them then Yugi and co. are really damn stupid.
> 
> In other news, I'm also writing a pre-Battle City au which is more fleshed out than... whatever this is, but anyways, enjoi?

Marik was laying on the bed of his temporary room, gazing up at the ceiling, when he heard a knock at the door. He got to his feet, leaving the Millennium Rod safely tucked behind the pillow.

“Come in,” he called. His voice pitched up a notch reflexively, just in case the visitor was one of the pawns in the game he'd set up. Had to keep up appearances after all.

The door opened and a familiar mop of white hair greeted him. Marik grinned when maroon eyes flicked up to meet his gaze. He wasn't sure who else he was expecting, but he was just thankful that none of Yugi's friends had come to try and draft him into their ranks. The door shut again and the two were left alone.

“Hello, _Namu_ ,” the spirit said, a measured amount of snark condensed into the false name. The stolen features of his host appeared innocent enough, but Marik could already tell that he wasn't pleased.

Marik's voice returned to its regular tone, but the deceptively sweet look remained on his face. “Bakura, what brings you here?”

The spirit leaned against the wall, crossing his arms and shrugging his shoulders as if he didn't want to throttle the other male right there. “It's going to be a while until the first duel begins. I figure we could _pass the time_ with a nice little chat.”

Yes, a _nice_ little chat _._ If that was what he called it.

Marik couldn't help but snort. Bakura could play nonchalant all he wanted, but the indignation pouring off of him was more than obvious. “You're not happy about the sudden adjustment to our agreement I take it?”

Bakura fixed him with a sour look, growling low in his throat. “I've already done more than I bargained for, so you better follow through on your end of the deal.”

Marik chuckled and went over to one of the cabinets lining the wall, pulling out a bottle and two glasses. He hummed approvingly at the label on the wine. He had to hand it to Kaiba sometimes. Perhaps he should have expected as much from the young billionaire.

“You should just _relax_. I have everything under control.” Marik walked back over to sit down in one of the arm chairs surrounding a small circular table. He poured for himself first, then raised the empty glass, nodding to Bakura. “Would you like a drink?”

Bakura tilted his head, amusement dancing in his eyes. “Aren't you a little young to be drinking?”

“Do you honestly think I let anything as rigid as the law stop me?” Marik's grin was unfaltering. “This is all at Kaiba's expense anyway. He's the one at fault here if anyone gives enough of a shit to investigate.” Which they wouldn't. Who would challenge the CEO of one of the most powerful companies in the world? Marik himself couldn't afford to underestimate Kaiba; it had been difficult enough cracking his system and inserting his Ghouls into the tournament.

Bakura eyed him for a moment, as calculating as he'd been at the pier, and then he went over to take the adjacent seat. He was silent, trying to work Marik out. At this point, it had become a game between them – actually, from the very beginning it had been a game.

Perhaps they were enjoying it more than they should have.

“What about you? I mean,” Marik's eyes shifted to him as he poured him a glass, a strategically placed sultry note entering his tone, “I assume spirits naturally don't abide by any laws, but you seem rather _keen_ on bending to my will.”

Bakura cracked a smirk back at him. “Careful, Ishtar, you should at least wait until I've started drinking before you make bad passes.”

Marik's eyes flashed. He'd been wondering what Bakura's real motives for being here were, and the other male had just dropped a rather telling hint. Perhaps the spirit truly _was_ bored and looking for a source of entertainment to pass the time.

Of course, things rarely turned out to be that simple.

“We should work on that then, shouldn't we?” Marik set the bottle down, swirling his own wine before taking a sip. Bakura's gaze fell on the other glass still waiting on the table.

“Not exactly the smart thing to do before a duel. Then again, I hadn't really pegged you for being smart.” Bakura clicked his tongue. Despite himself, he reached for the glass and took an improper swig, downing it like it was a shot.

Marik's grin only widened, as if Bakura had complimented instead of insulted him. “Oh? Then what did you have me pegged for?”

Bakura sighed, slowing down his intake of the wine before speaking. “An annoying, fake, megalomaniac with an overinflated sense of self worth and a penchant for toying with dark powers he doesn't understand.”

“Is that so?” Marik threw his head back and laughed. Perhaps if Bakura wasn't so ridiculously transparent, he might have been offended. He took another sip of his wine, rolling the tart flavour over his tongue. “Are you trying to goad me into revealing more about these _dark powers_ I don't understand?”

“No. Like I said, I'm just here for a nice little chat,” Bakura answered mildly, but his shrugged shoulders and the way he leaned back were a sign of retreat. “... Although I was wondering just how you expect your scheme to play out. As of now, I can already tell Yugi and his friends are suspicious of me. It's a little too unbelievable that poor, injured Ryou Bakura just got up and walked out of the hospital to take one of the spots in the finals of this tournament.”

He raised a brow at Marik, tracing his pale fingers along the lip of the glass. “How long before they make the connection and their mistrust shifts from me to you?”

Marik waved a hand uncaringly. He was well aware of the disguise possibly falling through, it just wasn't as much of a concern to him as other matters. “I'll keep up _Namu_ for as long as possible. At this point, what's more important is claiming the God cards.”

“Which brings me to my second concern...” Bakura was watching him intently. If he was even pretending to be patient at this point, the ruse was slipping fast, betraying a far darker emotion underneath. Bakura was all edges, and seeing him fill such a soft vessel was almost unsettling. It was almost a wonder how he'd even convinced Yugi and his friends that he was still the Bakura they knew. Then again, Marik had a much easier time seeing who he really was; he was an expert at peeling back the layers of a person. “I don't know how the finals will be structured, but there's a chance we may be matched against each other. If that's the case, how exactly do you expect me to win the cards you want? And, for that matter, how do you plan on carrying out your own agenda?”

Marik pretended to think, tipping back his glass and drinking some of the wine at a leisurely pace, just because he knew it would annoy Bakura. In the short time that Marik had known him, he'd discovered that the spirit truly _wasn't_ patient. He was impulsive, hasty, chaotic – dangerous qualities Marik shouldn't have found attractive, yet he did.

“It's not a desirable situation but if it comes to that, then I'll have you lose,” he answered simply.

Bakura set his empty glass down on the table. At first he was smirking to himself, a quiet chuckle rattling in his chest, then he leaned over his armrest, towards Marik.

“So you'd have made me enter the tournament for nothing.” He said lowly, the vicious look in his eye barely concealed by a mask of indifference. “You do realize I expect _full payment_ even in that case, right?”

Marik ran a hand through his own hair, relcining back into his seat with a sigh. “Didn't I say you needed to _relax_? We're talking purely in hypotheticals here.”

The room went silent, and then there was the scrape of chair and the shuffle of feet. Marik suddenly found Bakura's face three inches from his own close enough for ribbons of white hair to tickle at his face and shoulders. Bakura leaned over him, hands braced on either side of him, trapping him in.

“Well let's say, _hypothetically_ , I didn't want to lose to some little upstart who thinks he's hot shit.” Bakura hissed, lips pulling back to expose his teeth, playful and terrible all at once. “What would your grand plan of action be in that case, Marik?”

Marik impassively stared back at him, elbows still leisurely propped against the armrests. The neck of the wine glass twirled between his fingertips. He leaned forward to set the glass down on the table, moving further into Bakura's personal space as he did so.

“Beat you into submission,” He whispered, breath washing over Bakura's lips, which curved into a sneer. A pale hand seized the front of his lilac sweater and jerked him upwards slightly.

“You make it sound as though you _could_.”

Marik laughed at him. Bakura had no idea about the power an Egyptian God card had, much less the Winged Dragon of Ra itself. It wouldn't even be much of a match.

But dueling was the furthest thing from his mind right now. Marik smirked.

“Want to test that theory?”

Bakura smashed their mouths together, using the hand fisted in Marik's shirt as leverage. It wasn't so much a kiss as it was Bakura sucking at his bottom lip, drawing it between his teeth and biting down, presumably as some sort of petty revenge. Perhaps it was to shut Marik up, or maybe he'd just run out of things to say to, in his terms, _pass the time_.

Whatever the case, Marik groaned, a bit more pained than pleased. He ran his tongue over the area, which wasn't bleeding but it did hurt. Bakura grinned against his lips and Marik scoffed, tilting his head so he could kiss him properly. They fell back into the chair, Bakura straddling Marik's lap while his fingers dug into the leather backing.

“Damn,” Marik breathed between kisses, “I didn't think a little wine and banter would be such a mood setter.”

“It's generally the law of thieves.” Bakura replied, hands sliding to Marik's shoulders. So he did obey _some_ laws after all. “If you see something appealing you better grab it before it's gone. Live in the moment, Ishtar.”

“You don't need to tell me.” What was it he'd been doing for the past five years? Disregarding the fact that the other had just admitted he found him _appealing_ , Marik frowned at Bakura's last comment. “And use my first name.”

He was more than his clan, more than the fate that had plagued that name.

“Marik,” Bakura huskily whispered into his ear, exaggeratedly drawing out the 'r' sound and making it roll and tumble in the most obnoxious of ways. “ _Marrrrrik_.”

Marik rolled his eyes, reaching up to twist his fingers into Bakura's hair. A harsh pull silenced him and he gasped, then moaned as Marik's mouth found his jugular. Both of Marik's hands dropped to knead Bakura's ass, making him purr in approval. The spirit rolled his hips down, unabashedly grinding himself against the other male's crotch. His hands ran up into Marik's hair, combing through the golden strands. It felt like silk against his fingers.

“You know for someone who insists he could _dominate_ me, you seem pretty content as you are,” Marik sneered, fingertips snaking under Bakura's shirt, scraping the small of his back and down his belly.

“Card games and fucking are two very different things.” Bakura shivered a bit at the contact, shifting because the position was becoming uncomfortable. He couldn't get very far however; his knees were stuck in the crevices between the armrests and the cushion and left him without any space to move. He clicked his tongue in irritation. “Speaking of which...”

He gestured with his chin over to the bed. Marik understood the unspoken suggestion, sweeping Bakura up with a surprising amount of strength (or perhaps not so surprising considering his toned build.)

Bakura grunted as he was unceremoniously tossed into the bed, but Marik remained standing. Marik undid his belt, dropping it to the floor along with his lilac hoodie. Bakura raised a brow when he didn't take off his dark undershirt while he was at it.

“This is going to be horribly awkward if you leave that on,” the spirit said, kicking off his shoes. He slid off Ryou's light blue overshirt and shoved it to the side of the bed, carefully placing the Millennium Ring on top of it, still close enough to maintain control.

“Worry about your own damn clothes,” Marik snapped back, though he didn't give Bakura much of a chance to. After kicking off his own shoes, he climbed on top of the bed and pressed his weight over the other male, both of them still near fully clothed. Bakura didn't mind however, his knees falling apart in a not-so-subtle invitation for Marik to situate himself between them.

Bakura's laughter was swallowed by another bruising kiss, their mouths fiercely working against each other, teeth clicking as their hands roamed freely. Bakura's gripped Marik's shoulders as Marik slid his palms under the striped material of Ryou's shirt, hiking it upwards as he did so. A sharp whine was pulled from the spirit as Marik twisted his nipple, legs clenching around Marik's waist. The other male paused to peel Bakura's shirt off, but when the spirit went to return the favour, Marik pried his wrists off and shoved him back onto the bed.

Part of Bakura was curious as to why Marik seemed so touchy about showing his upper body... another part didn't care and was just enjoying the weight on top of him, pinning him down to the bed. He opted not to pry, lest Marik grow angry and cease ravishing him altogether. He mentally stowed the vulnerability away for later use, however.

Letting out a growl, the tomb keeper dipped his pelvis against Bakura's, the movement slow and deep. He bent to suck at the spirit's neck, nails raking down the white expanse of his torso and running back up his sides. Bakura practically cooed, rolling his head back to give Marik more room to work with. Despite Marik's less than gentle treatment, he was surprisingly thorough – something Bakura could appreciate.

Marik's hands dropped to Bakura's jeans, fumbling with the button for a moment before it popped open. His hands slid along the spirit's bony hips, squeezing and clawing at his flesh as he dragged the material of his pants down, mouth set to leaving a decent sized bruise around Bakura's collarbone all the while.

Bakura's eyes, having been closed while he contently drank in all the affection Marik gave him, flew open as he remembered something. He pawed at Marik's shoulders to get his attention, causing the other to throw him an annoyed look.

“Wait, do you have any...”

Marik thought for a moment, and then groaned as he came to a sudden realization. “Fuck. No, I don't.

Bakura propped himself up on his elbows, ignoring the slight discomfort it brought on Ryou's injured arm. He ran a hand through his hair and fixed Marik with a withering look. “Oh, but I thought you were _so_ prepared for anything.”

Marik glowered at him, reluctantly sliding off the bed and redressing. “I saw a kitchen on the way here. Come with me.”

“Yeah, _that_ won't look suspicious at all.”

Marik rolled his eyes as he fixed his hair. He hated when Bakura was right; it probably would've looked odd if the two of them were seen sneaking around together. “Fine! Then wait here.”

Reaching underneath his pillow, Marik pulled out the Millennium Rod. He didn't miss the way Bakura's eyes glinted when he spotted the Item, and Marik threw him a wink before stowing it in his belt and dashing from the room. Like hell he was leaving Bakura alone with anything of his.

The kitchen wasn't far and the hallways were clear, thankfully. Hoping the flush wasn't super apparent on his face, he slunk towards his destination. If he was lucky, the people aboard this blimp would be sensible and all be in their rooms preparing for the duels to come.

Marik grimaced. Gods, any other time he would have found it funny if someone got the impression he'd been fooling around, but right now he couldn't afford to draw attention to himself. That plus having to pause their _activities_ kind of put a damper on the mood. Oh well, nothing could be done about that.

He reached the kitchen, finding it to be empty. The door which he could only assume lead to the pantry was open, however. He didn't give it much thought – until he stepped inside and nearly tripped over someone sitting on the floor. Jonouchi looked up in surprise, a bag of chips hanging from his mouth.

“Hey, Namu!”

Marik bit his lip to keep from swearing out loud. Of course he had to run into Jonouchi, the one person who'd shattered his mind control over him. Keeping his back faced away, he forced an innocent look upon his face, smiling at the blond.

“Ah, Jonouchi. How's it going?”

Jou dropped the chips. He appeared to have been very engrossed in what he was doing, immediately going back to rummaging around in the shelves. It didn't look like he was moving from his spot any time soon. “Oh, you know, just got the pre-duel chills. Honda and Otogi ate everything in my fridge...”

Marik ground his teeth behind his lips, grasping for any way he could get Jou to leave. He kept his tone light and casual. “I think Kaiba said something about there being a buffet later, before the matches are chosen.”

“Right, right, but you'd think moneybags would keep some snacks lying around or something, eh?”

Marik couldn't help but snort at the nickname. 'Moneybags' did indeed keep snacks, and Jou looked like he was set to pillaging all of them. Meanwhile, Marik's eyes searched the shelves. There had to be something in here...

“So,” Jou asked, catching Marik off guard, “what brings you here?”

 _Dammit._ “I was just... going for a walk to clear my head, checking out the facilities and all that,” he shrugged, an unsteady laugh bubbling up his throat. He hoped Jou bought it. For extra effect, he grimaced a bit, rubbing the back of his head. “I'm really nervous. Didn't think I'd get this far for my first big tournament, you know?”

Any uncertainty in Jonouchi's expression disappeared as some ridiculous mentoring instinct took over. He threw Marik a thumbs up, brimming with confidence.

“Hey, don't sweat it! Just relax and your duelist instincts will do the rest.” He puffed his chest out as though he were an expert on the matter. After a moment, Jonouchi's expression noticeably darkened, like he'd just remembered something. He turned back to what he was doing, shuffling things around with a bit more force than necessary. “I really hope you don't get matched up against that Marik creep though. That guy is bad news.”

The corners of Marik's lips turned upwards as he leered at the back of Jou's head. “Yeah, so I've heard.”

“Jonouchi!”

The smirk dropped off Marik's face instantly as he heard voices echoing from down the hallway. Luckily, he spotted a small bottle of olive oil on the nearest shelf in the same moment and snatched it, stuffing it in the pocket of his cargo pants.

“Where is he?”

“Raiding the kitchen probably.”

The voices were drawing closer, but Marik wasn't going to stick around. He had almost cleared the pantry doorway and was out of sight when Jonouchi called after him, cringing when he heard his voice.

“Where ya going, Namu? You should come hang out with us before the semi-finals start.”

Jou was lucky he couldn't see the expression on Marik's face. The last thing the tomb keeper wanted to do was mingle with the people he planned on killing, especially now of all times. Marik did his best to sound bashful. “Thank you, but I'm really tired. I was hoping to rest a bit before they began. Sorry, I hope you understand!”

Before Jonouchi could say anything else, he darted away from the pantry and out the other end of the kitchen before the others could enter. As soon as he was out of sight, his expression dropped from neutral to extremely annoyed as he dragged a hand down his face. He was in such a sour mood by the time he reached his room he wasn't even sure if sex would be worth it at this point. As soon as he entered, he chucked the stolen bottle of oil onto the bed where it bounced off Bakura's thigh.

“Take your fucking clothes off,” Marik snarled, already kicking off his shoes and undoing his belt for the second time that night.

“Oooh, something's got you in a bad mood.” Bakura turned onto his side and rested his cheek in his hand, reaching for the bottle and examining it absentmindedly. “You run into the friendship cult?”

“As a matter of fact, yes.”

Bakura barked a laugh. “Damn, I'm sympathetic. Really, I am. So, is this the best you could do?” He shook the bottle. Marik glared at him, but then forced a sweet look on his face.

“Oh, I'm sorry. Next time you can ask Kaiba if he has anything lying around.”

Bakura scoffed but said nothing more, setting the bottle down to the side as they resumed where they'd left off. Marik climbed back on top of him with an impatience that was almost flattering, his ire apparent in the way one of his hands wrapped around the spirit's neck. Bakura didn't mind though.

Perhaps that was his problem; he was too lenient. He didn't mind a lot of what Marik did – at least, not enough to do anything about it – and Marik was also a brat and would take what he wanted anyway. But as long as their goals were similar and Bakura got what he was promised in the end, what did it matter?

Marik kissed him even as he choked, releasing his neck soon enough and pulling back to move on. Bakura grabbed him and dragged him back down for another bruising round, biting at his lip again, until he tasted metal this time. He soothed the area with little sweeps of his tongue, smirking even as Marik snarled at him and attacked his neck in return. They rocked together, the heat from before quickly returning, stirred by the friction of their bodies. Bakura seized the other's hips, grasping at Marik's sides, dragging the material of his shirt up with his movements. He was foiled yet again as a pair of strong arms held him down.

“Don't fucking touch my back,” Marik hissed into his ear. Bakura was _really_ curious now.

“What are you hiding?”

“None of your business.” Marik didn't sound even remotely playful. He tugged at the back of his shirt, pulling it back down over the titillating stretch of brown skin peeking out above the waistline of his pants. As much as Bakura loved a pissed off and angry Marik, he didn't like the look of discomfort on his face either. Both of them were already hot and bothered, and Bakura imagined that things would only heat up more very soon. Hell, he wanted out of the heavy material of his jeans as soon as possible.

Bakura looked thoughtful for a moment, and then he wriggled an arm out, reaching over for the light blue overshirt. He held it up. “Want to use this?”

Marik's anger dissipated and he blinked at him incredulously, not having expected that kind of consideration from the spirit. It was likely for selfish reasons, but whatever, he took the shirt anyway. He sat back, hesitating for a moment before pulling off his own tight black shirt, throwing Ryou's over his shoulders as quickly as possible. The lighter material was far more comfortable and didn't rub against his back with their fevered movements.

On Bakura's end, he was simply enjoying the show. He knew Marik was well built, but damn, he almost felt self concious for his host's scrawny frame. For a fleeting moment, it made him miss his own body, but that one had long since disappeared in the sands of time. His eyes, as well as his hands, roved over the other male's torso appreciatively as he licked his lips.

Marik cocked a brow. “Like what you see?”

“Yeah. Shame about your personality though.”

Marik snorted but didn't dignify that with a response, finally kicking off his pants and then helping Bakura out of the remainder of his clothing. Bakura went to nip at the other male's chest, but all too quickly Marik was moving down his body. The spirit was about to ask what he was doing when Marik grabbed his dick and drew his tongue along the head.

“Consider this an early repayment...”

Bakura swallowed thickly, laying back and stiffling a gasp as Marik's lips closed over him. Oh damn, Marik had one saving grace and that was his mouth – when he wasn't using it to speak. The spirit's hands fisted at the sheets as Marik licked up his shaft, soon finding even greater purchase in his hair.

Marik withdrew, making Bakura growl a quiet threat, but soon enough he had returned, smirking as he slipped a lubricated finger into Bakura's ass. It was soon followed by another as Marik went back to sucking him off. Bakura bit his lip, but was unable to stifle a moan as those fingers probed around inside him, jolting a bit when they found what they were looking for. He all but shoved his fist in his mouth, hearing Marik chuckle at his reactions, the vibrations only adding to the sensation.

A steady rhythm was built, another finger slipping into him and shallowly thrusting as Marik's head dipped and raised, throat massaging Bakura's cock. The spirit thrust his hips up, too engrossed in the wet heat closed around him. Fucking hell, he wasn't going to last like this, but he couldn't bring himself to care, greedily drinking in the attention the other gave.

Between the fingertips brushing against his prostate and the mouth sucking him, it wasn't long before his stolen nerves were alight with a blinding flash of pleasure. He shuddered, arching as he came, a long sigh of contentment leaving him. Sinking back into the bed, he dissolved into a relaxed pile. He felt Marik pull back and draw away from the bed for a moment, likely to spit in the nearby sink. He really didn't pay much attention to him though, too boneless to care what the other male was doing.

But before long, he was back, telling Bakura what to do as usual. “Get on your knees.”

The comfortable, almost dreamy, expression immediately disappeared off of Bakura's face. “Don't order me around!”

Marik's glare was piercing, but then his expression softened, curling into something more manipulative. “Fine, if you'd rather me look deep in your eyes while I fuck you.”

“Bastard...” Bakura grumbled, but conceded, turning to get on his hands and knees. Like a dog. Whatever, he wasn't a control freak like Marik and, unlike the other, he had a handle on his pride. Or at least he'd like to think that was the–

A sharp gasp flew from his lips. Marik was pushing into him, hands gripping Bakura's hips tightly. Even with the preparation, it drove the breath from him and his fingers clawed into the bedspread. He didn't know what god Marik had appealed to to become so well endowed.

Treating him with all the care and gentleness he would expect from the sadistic brat, Marik quickly dove into a steady pace. Bakura dropped his weight to his elbows, hands clenched in front of him, mouth hanging open. He didn't mind the treatment; it would have been more of an insult to handle him _lovingly_. That wasn't what their partnership – this, whatever it was – was about. Bakura's expression twisted into a grimace, the thought making him snarl and buck back challengingly.

“That all you got?”

Marik huffed out a noise – something indignant, yet amused at the same time – and then a hand twisted into the spirit's hair and shoved his head down. A bit of readjusting, the nails digging into his pale thighs as the grip at his hips tightened, and then Bakura had to push his face into the sheets to muffle a scream. Marik pulled out until just the head of his cock was nudging between Bakura's ass cheeks, only to slam back in, pounding him at a pace that was almost brutal. The harsh slap of skin against skin echoed cut through the air, and when a screen lit up near the door Marik's room and a voice made an announcement that the buffet would be starting in twenty minutes, it went ignored.

Humiliatingly enough, the spirit was already feeling the blood rushing between his legs again, despite the fact he'd already come. Some whisper of dignity kept his arms braced against the bed, hands fisted in the sheets, but it was fading with each thrust from the other panting body above him. Making a snap decision, like he did in most situations, he arched down against the bed. Bakura's eyelids fluttered, the sheets gliding along the underside of his shaft, the friction making him moan. One of his hands travelled down to stroke himself, heat quickly building in his belly.

He'd only just begun to get into it when he felt fingers brush against his own, jolting in surprise when Marik leaned over him.

“What the hell–?”

Though Marik was breathing hard, the smirk in his voice was more than apparent. “Here, let me... help you.”

Bakura wanted to shoot back that he could do it himself, because he knew Marik's intentions weren't out of _sheer generosity_ – no, he always seemed to have something to prove, making a show of his own power.

But it was too good so the spirit merely dropped his head again and thrusted into the other's hand, mouth agape as Marik pounded into him. He felt teeth nipping at his shoulders, the other male's movements growing more erratic, the hand jerking him stuttering with the uneasy rhythm. Marik buried his face between Bakura's shoulder blades and groaned – Bakura almost wished he could see the expression on his face, vulnerable in climax. After a few more thrusts of his hips, Marik exhaled heavily and pulled out to lay beside him, leaving him hard and aching in the process.

Snorting at the lack of assistance, Bakura took himself in hand once again. A few flicks of his wrist were all it took to pull himself off. He grit his teeth as the heat of orgasm swept over him once again, before collapsing in a pile next to Marik. The bed was small so it was somewhat of an awkward fit.

For a while there was only silence and the sound of them trying to stabilize their breathing. They didn't have much time until the finals started, and the both of them were a mess, but when Bakura looked over, Marik had his eyes shut and looked about ready to pass out.

He was about to shove him when his eyes suddenly darted to the side. He was just reaching over, fingers groping for the cold metal of the Rod, when he suddenly found himself pinned under the other's weight once more.

“So, was that your plan from the beginning?” Marik huffed, fire dancing in his eyes. “Seducing me into letting my guard down?”

Bakura cackled at his expense. Sometimes it was far too easy to work him up. “No, but it was worth a try.”

Marik cocked a brow, releasing him and then snatching the Rod back into the safety of his hands. Bakura did the same with the Ring. “Did you even have a plan?”

“Not really. I was more curious to see where this would lead.” Bakura threw him a crooked look. Outside, the winds began to howl, like some ominous whisper trying to climb inside the structure of the blimp to warn its inhabitants.

“Like I said, if you see something appealing you better seize it in the moment, because it may be gone in the next.”


End file.
